City Blogger: Derby day...

25 March 2014 12:57

Posted by @viewfromablue

Share this:

Share

Tweet

+1

Email this

More channels

It’s here. It’s time. It’s derby day.

Let’s embrace the nerves, there’s no escape. No joy, no excited anticipation, no relaxing stroll to the ground. No calming drink, no easy-going chat, no light-hearted discussion. There’s hope, of that there is plenty, but it’s encased in nerves, surrounded by worries and hidden beneath a forest of fear. It’s derby day.

It’s the day when rivals meet, when two sets of players and fans oppose in heated, impassioned battle. It’s the day when composure and confidence are eschewed, replaced by overwhelming notions of dread and anxiety. It’s the day which affects moods. It’s the day which can bring about elation, ecstasy and pure, unrefined euphoria. It’s the day which can lead to concrete deflation and emptiness. It’s derby day.

The noise. The shouts. The clamour. The songs. The crackle. The jeers. The cheers. The whistles. The groans. The silence. The roar. They’re all present. All fighting to outdo one another, all competing for that leading berth, the attention, the lingering memory. It’s an atmospheric day like no other. It’s derby day.

Rational thought is buried, supplanted by paranoia. Pessimism loiters. Frailty and worry step forward, carrying negativity and trepidation with them. Assurance and belief, stalwarts for much of the year, are relegated. An intangible apprehension envelops. It’s the day which injects fright into the system. It’s derby day.

It’s the day which can result in incredulity. Of uncontrollable happiness, of exhilaration, of joyous disbelief as goals four, five and six crash home and send the travelling contingent delirious. It’s the day which can delight as a fiery, emotional captain leaps highest to head home, to defeat the enemy, to drive us to the title. It’s the day which can kill dreams, a late winner dashing hope and dashing hope again and then doing it once more. It’s the day which grabs our attention and then leaves us helpless in the hands of eleven strangers, fighting for the badge, for the shirt, for the club. It’s derby day.

It’s not enjoyable. Not beforehand. Not during. Not until the final whistle has been blown and a favourable result has been achieved. And then the mocking, the teasing, the taunting and the gloating can begin. The insults, the jibes, the frenzied and fervent debate. And yet, deep down, beneath the layers of contempt, of disdain, of feigned disinterest that have been constructed over the years, we relish it. It’s what we do. It’s what we need. It’s derby day.

So let’s do this. Let’s be proud. Let’s back the players, those emboldened souls entrusted with our support. Go on, lads, do your job. Express your quality. Deliver a lesson. Make us proud. It’s all we ask.